


Marvelicious Madness

by sithlordslut



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Costumes, F/M, Fluff, Smut, Steve being a little shit, clint being an idiot, clint being beat up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 07:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8195156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithlordslut/pseuds/sithlordslut
Summary: A bunch of sin with our favorite Marvel characters.





	1. You Idiot [Clint x Reader](Smut)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First up is Clint. He's an idiot but we love him anyway. Gonna be adding in more tags and things as I go.

“Clint, look at you! We are _not_ having sex right now,” you nearly shout, hoping that’s enough to convey to him just how stupid that suggestion is.

He pulls a face like he has no idea what you could be talking about, but the myriad of cuts and bruises on his face and neck speak for themselves. He’s had this look in his eye and it’s been nagging at you since the moment you’d seen him. His usual sharp and intense gaze has been replaced by something unfocused and wild. You aren’t sure if it’s a side effect of whatever drugs the medics had given him reacting with the _entire pot_ of coffee he’d downed as soon as he’d set foot in your apartment, or the result of nearly a month’s worth of pent up lust.

You wish you could be surprised at your current predicament but, with Hawkeye himself as a boyfriend, you’ve come to learn it’s best to expect the unexpected. It’s not unusual in the slightest for Clint to return home from an assignment injured, hell, it’d be weird if he _wasn’t_ hurt in some way, but that fact never seems to lessen your worry. Especially in times like this when he seems completely unconcerned with his own well being. You try to slip away then, he’d somehow managed to pull you on top of him after you’d finally gotten him to lie down.

“Babe,” he whines, grunting a bit as he tries to reposition himself under you, the hands he had clamped down on your hip and around your wrist still firmly in place. “I’m fine, alright? I promise. The doctors fixed me up real good.”

You snort and let your eyes travel down to a spot on his left side, right there under his ribcage. The one you’d been avoiding since he got in. His entire torso is covered in tender looking purple and black bruises, and you can tell from the way he was breathing that they still pained him as well, but there was one wound in particular that worried you.

His most recent mission had been a tricky one and, as saving the world so often did, had ended with the team getting caught up in the middle of a massive firefight. Clint had been reluctant to give you all the details regarding this incident but, from what you had managed to drag out of him, you gathered that he had been up on the roof of the building taking out enemies from above and was so absorbed in lining up his next target that he hadn’t had enough time to react in order to completely avoid being caught with the business end of a knife after some bastard snuck up on him from behind. Fortunately for everyone, the fucker hadn’t been able to cause any critical sort of wound, though Clint _definitely_ hadn’t been able to escape getting roughed up anyways, and it only needed to be cleaned and stitched up a bit before the medics had sent him on his way.

You sit back further on his legs, moving the hand he wasn’t holding up from its spot on the bed to gently brush your fingers along the line of stitches, feeling a pang in your heart as you take in the sight of his irritated skin. “Clint,” you begin again with a soft sigh, at this point not even sure why you bother arguing with him. “I love you to death, you know I do, but you’re a fucking wreck. You can barely take a breath without your ribs giving you shit, and, besides, I’m sure the doctors told you not to--”

Clint shifts then, the hand that was holding your wrist moving down to the mattress so he can push himself up to a sitting position.

“No, no no no no!” you scold, trying to gently push him back down, but he won’t have it. Ignoring all your protests he cups your cheek with his palm, the roughness of his skin a warm and welcome feeling after weeks of being without it, his other hand massaging your hip affectionately.

“Three weeks,” he says seriously, the hint of desperation you could hear creeping into his voice both warming your heart and making you want to laugh at the same time. Fuck it’s nice to know he feels even a fraction of the way you feel about him, and seeing how much he’s apparently been craving you doesn’t hurt your ego either. “We were gone for three weeks. And do you know how fucking _irritating_ it is to share a shitty motel room with Cap, Wilson, and Barnes? I thought Nat and I could go at it sometimes but, Jesus _Christ,_ those fuckers are insufferable once they get started. And we couldn’t even have phone sex this time; it was miserable.”

You can’t help but laugh a bit at that, a fond smile finding its way to your face when you see his has twisted into a soft sort-of grimace, as if the memory of those three and their awful bickering haunted him even now, made even _more_ unbearable but the lack of sexual contact between the two of you. You have to admit he’s right though. It _has_ been a long twenty-one days, and even though you’d at least been able to take care of yourself a few times while he’d been away, nothing ever really compares to how he can make you feel.

“ _And,_ ” he continues, the deepness of his tone bringing you back into focus, “we went three weeks without _this…_ ”

He gently closes the small space between you, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss meant to articulate _exactly_ what you’d both been missing out on. You sigh and lean into him, one of your hands moving up from where it had been resting against his chest to settle at the back of his neck, fingers tangling slightly in the hair there. You can’t stop the way your lips curve up slightly when you notice it’s a bit longer than he usually lets it get. He’ll probably want to trim it once he’s not so dead-set on convincing you to have sex with him.

He lets out a soft moan when you open your mouth for him, deciding to indulge him in that at least, and you feel his fingers tighten against the soft flesh of your hips. The kiss deepens, and you feel your resolve to make him keep his hands to himself until he was healed slip a little. After all, you’ve gone three weeks without your partner too, and, now that he’s here with his hands on you and doing that damned thing with his _tongue_ you feel almost powerless against the way your insides melt in response.

 _Almost_.

Now it’s his turn to protest as you break the kiss, watching as he drops his head back in annoyance and groans. “ _Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!_ ”

“Clint you’re _hurt,_ ” you say yet again, doing your best to ignore the part of your brain that has taken note of _just_ how adorable he is when he whines like that. You figure if you stand your ground he’ll eventually get tired of arguing and settle for taking a nap and cuddling instead. If he’s good you’ll maybe even take your clothes off.

You tell him as much, but he seems just as unsatisfied with that substitute even with the added bonus of your lack of clothing being thrown in. You sigh and rub the side of his neck affectionately, he’s nothing if not the stubborn bastard you fell in love with.

“ _Baby,_ I-- Christ-- I _missed_ you. Didn’t you miss me?” as he asks, he slides one of his hands around from its place at your hip to cup your ass, gripping it tightly as he pulls you impossibly closer and grinds you down slightly on his lap.

The bulge in his pants is considerable, and it takes everything in you not to roll your hips down again.

_God dammit._

“Your stitches,” you say simply, thinking that there’s no way he’ll be able to come up with an argument that will justify him wanting to risk ripping them open because he wants welcome home sex.

“I don’t _care_ about the stitches! I can barely even feel them anymore! I just. want. _you._ ”

You can tell by the look in his eye that he’s not giving up. Nothing you can say from this point on will get him to change his mind so you just roll your eyes instead, puffing out a long suffering sigh. The shit eating grin that spreads across his face as a result tempts you to smack him upside the head and, if you weren’t sure he probably has some kind of concussion he isn’t telling you about, you would.

“Fine. _Fine,_ you idiot, you win. You’re lucky I love you,” you are barely able to finish before Clint’s smashed his lips to yours again, this kiss containing all the barely suppressed hunger and desperation the first had only hinted at.

“I’m lucky you’re horny, too,” he says before he takes your bottom lip between his teeth his hands go to the hem of your shirt, slipping underneath the fabric and beginning to slide the material up your waist. You stop him when he reaches your ribs.

“Wait,” you breathe, taking in his unfocused eyes and flushed lips. If he’d looked desperate before he looks crazed now, and you can’t help the chuckle that escapes you as you add, “I have some rules first.”

“Anything,” he promises, with a quickness that ignites something wicked in you. There is always something about seeing him like this, so needy and willing…

 _God,_ you did miss him.

“First of all,” you begin, leaning in to brush your nose along the side of his jaw, “no pushing yourself. At _all_. If we’re gonna do this, I’m in charge. No negotiation.”

“Fine,” he says without even a second's thought.

You smirk against the skin of his neck before shifting back to look in his eyes again. “Second: I’m starting an idiot jar.”

Your statement elicits the desired response, and you have to bite back a laugh at the way his eyebrows draw together over his pretty blue eyes. “A what?”

“An idiot jar,” you say again, briefly pressing a hand to one of his bruised cheeks before moving it up to run through his hair. “Any time you do or say anything idiotic, you have to put at least a dollar in it—more depending on how stupid the thing that you said or did was.”

It takes him a moment to truly catch on to what you’ve said, and for a bit you’re left wondering if maybe his hearing aids are fucking up again, but when it finally clicks he barks out a loud laugh, flopping back down onto the mattress and taking you with him.

“You’re a little _asshole,_ ” he says, squeezing your ribs in that way that always makes you giggle and squirm.

“The asshole who puts up with your shit. So,” you press a quick kiss to his lips before sitting up, grasping the hem of your shirt and pulling it off. “We have a deal or what, Birdboy?”

“Deal,” he agrees. He’s distracted though, running his hands along the newly exposed flesh.

“Glad we’re on the same page. You’re gonna owe me once your stitches rip.”

He snorts, one split eyebrow raising in amusement at your cockiness. “We’ll see.”

_Victory will be so sweet._

“Alright, baby, get comfortable. I just want you to sit back and let me do the work,” you tell him, settling down and slowly starting to grind yourself against him.  

The delightful sound that draws out of him sends a shiver up your spine, and you smirk when his back arcs up off the bed, though that shifts to a wince when you see the way the action causes his stitches to pull taught.

“What did I say?” you scold lightly, leaning forward to gently ease him back down to the mattress, pressing soft kisses to the skin of his collar bone.

“You’re not _doing_ anything,” he breathes, voice already sounding strained.

“Just relax, Clint,” you have to admit that you sound a little breathless too, your voice hitching up slightly at the end as you press yourself down again.

You can feel a faint warmth pooling deep in your gut already and you fight the urge to laugh at how, even though you’ve tried to play it cool up until now, your body is giving away just how much you’ve been wanting him while he was away, reacting at even the faintest pressure.

You groan when he tightens his grip on your hips, tugging you down even firmer. “Ugh, do you know how fucking _irritating_ it is to have to-- fuck-- to have to worry about you constantly when you’re gone? How do you manage to get yourself fucked up _every time_ you leave my sight? I swear, I think you _like_ getting your ass kicked.”

You can’t help but to give him shit now, despite how desperate you find yourself feeling.

Clint smirks up at you, voice catching slightly on a breathy little chuckle when he says, “Only when it’s by you. Besides, I came back, didn’t I?”

You don’t even dignify that with a response, deciding instead to shut him up with a kiss. He seems satisfied enough with that, humming into your mouth as you took his bottom lip between your teeth, still rocking against him at a slow and steady pace.

“You’re still dressed,” he complains when you both break apart to take a breath. He reaches for the waistband of your shorts and you take the hint, climbing off the bed and taking your time to make a show of sliding them down your legs. The lustful look he gives you is enough to make your legs shake in anticipation and you shiver a bit as the cool air hits your skin. “Jesus, baby…”

You’ve been with Clint Barton so long that the depth of admiration in his voice shouldn’t make you feel weak in the knees but, somehow, he still manages it, taking one of your hands in his and pulling you back to the bed.

You settle back between his knees, taking a moment to admire the sight of him laid out before you, chest heaving, and your eyes followed the faint line of dirty blonde hair down to where his erection is tenting his boxers in the most delicious way…

You’re suddenly very glad that he’d managed to strip before you finally forced him to lie down.

Clint inhales sharply when you start to run your hands up from his ankles to the waistband of boxers, and his hand comes up to pet softly at the back of your head as you slowly drag them down, peppering soft, feathery kisses across his stomach as you go.

You pause right as you reach the base of his cock, taking a moment to appreciate the way his muscles taper down to a defined V, and feel his hand tighten in your hair, his entire body tensing in anticipation.

“Enjoyin’ the view?” You can tell he meant to sound cocky and self-assured, but his voice breaks at the end, and you’re a bit delighted by how wrecked he already sounds.

You stare right into his eyes as you yank them down the rest of the way, and Clint huffs out a sigh of relief that is so heavy you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing. But that laugh quickly changes to a soft groan at the sight of him. You’re sure you’ve never seen his dick this hard, and your mouth waters at the thought of what he’s gonna feel like when he’s finally inside you.

When you look back up to Clint, he’s snagged his bottom lip between his teeth, and he looks so wound up that even the slightest touch could be enough to shatter him.

Deciding to test that control, you press a wet, lingering kiss to the base of his shaft, delighting in the strangled noise that pulls out of him, one hand fisting in the sheets while the other grips at your hair almost tight enough to hurt. You take your time, slowly kissing and licking your way up to the tip, Clint growing more and more restless with every passing moment.

You hesitate a moment just before finally taking him into your mouth, enjoying the way his whole body shivers as he feels your breath against his sensitive skin.

Taking a deep breath, you wrap your lips around him fully and the sound that comes from the man beneath you can only be described as pornographic. It’s a deep, full-bodied _moan_ that comes from low in his throat. The idea that _you’re_ the one who drew such an exquisite sound from him makes you feel flushed, the room suddenly feels too hot. A delicious tingle licks its way through you, and you feel a dull ache start to form between your legs, your inner thighs already feeling slick despite not having been touched.

You swirl your tongue around his head before taking him in deeper and hollowing out your cheeks a bit, and you have to stop and take a moment to compose yourself at the way he moans your name in response, the hand he had tangled in the covers shooting up to join the other at the back of your head.

It makes you almost giddy-- the idea that you have the power to thoroughly wreck this man. Clinton Francis Barton, Hawkeye, a fucking _Avenger_.

Jesus _fuck,_ you’re so in love with him.

The strangled moan that rips its way out of him when you take him all the way into your throat and swallow causes your insides to clench painfully, and soon after he’s trying to gently tug at your hair, trying to coax you off of him.

“No more, baby. Please,” he begs, panting heavily. “No more.”

You slide him out of your mouth with an obscene slurp, quirking a brow as you look up at him. “I thought this is what you wanted?”

“It is but-- shit, I’ve been wantin’ this for weeks, honey. I’m not gonna last if you keep that up. I wanna cum inside you.”

The admission sends a shiver up your spine and you stroke him with your hand a few times before crawling up his body, settling in once you’re straddling his hips. You lean down and trap his lips in a steamy kiss, whimpering softly when Clint’s hands move down to palm at your ass, taking a cheek in each hand and kneading them firmly.

“Remember the rules,” you warn gently, lips brushing his as you speak.

“You’re in charge,” he grunts, flinching as you reach down to grab his length with one hand, guiding it to your entrance. “Got it.”

A shudder rips through your whole body when you circle his tip slowly around your clit, and you’re amazed at how wet you are without any of your usual foreplay.

Clint’d probably be bragging if he wasn’t so overcome with lust.

You press your forehead to his, looking him right in the eye as you finally, _finally_ sink down onto him. You both groan loudly at the sensation and you grip the back of his neck tightly, gasping when you feel his hands tighten around your hips.

Both of your bodies go rigid, the only movement the shaky rise and fall of your chests pressed tightly together as you try to adjust. You take this time to kiss him again, this time somehow even hungrier and more desperate than the last but just as sweet, reveling in the feel of his mouth on yours as long as you can, breaking apart only to breathe.

When you begin to move again you start the rhythm out gently; slowly grinding your hips against his, foreheads pressed together as you share a few harsh breaths. A choked gasp escapes him as you start to gradually increase your speed, eventually pushing yourself into a sitting position and bracing both hands on his chest to keep yourself steady. His hands hold tightly to your hips, fingers flexing and clenching like he’s trying to hold himself back from flipping you over and pounding you into the mattress, your agreement be damned.

The thought causes you to clench around him tightly and he groans loudly, chest pressing up against your palms as he arcs his back, sucking in a shaky breath.

“Ah shit, babe, that’s it. Just like that, go faster baby,” he pleads, looking up at you with wild, lust-blown eyes.

You grant his request, tightening yourself around him and bringing your hips down faster and harder, whimpering at the way this angle gets him in impossibly deep, his cock brushing your g-spot with every thrust.

“God, Clint,” you breathe, leaning forward to kiss his neck, trembling at the sound of the appreciative moan that pulls out of him in response. You let your lips wander even lower, biting down on the skin of his collarbone when he brings one of his hands up to knead at your breast, tweaking the nipple.

A loud breathy whine escapes you when you feel one of his hands slip between your bodies and the pad of his index finger brush against your clit, and you drag your nails down his chest almost involuntarily. He’s breathing heavily, muscles taut and tense underneath you, and you pull yourself back upright, trailing your hand down to grip at his ribs. You stop a good ways away from his tender stitches, biting down on your lip as his fingers still tease you.

“Fuck this,” Clint says suddenly, sitting up and locking one arm behind your and threading his fingers through your hair.

You didn’t even have time to be outraged before he was pulling you in for a harsh kiss, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and biting down hard enough to make you gasp at the stinging pain.

You tighten your grip on his waist, your hand on his left side suddenly feeling slick and sticky…

_Fuck._

“Ah, shit, Clint!” you rip your lips away from his, bringing your hand up into your line of vision and groaning when you find it covered in red. “You’re fucking _bleeding!_ ”

Clint doesn’t even look away from your face, his split eyebrows drawn together tightly over his eyes, one corner of his lip trapped between his teeth so hard you’re slightly surprised that it’s not bleeding too.

He releases it only to say, “I’m fine.”

You stop moving immediately, staring at him completely dumbfounded. He _can’t_ be fucking serious. “Clint you gotta let me look at it.”

“No. Just ignore it, baby. Please.” He hasn’t stopped thrusting into you, using the hand on his hip to guide your movements without your help.

“ _Clinton,”_ you try to sound firm but the way it comes out ends up sounding more like an outraged moan, both at the way he seems to actually be turned _on_ by the sight of you covered in his blood and the fact that you’re both right on the edge now.

“Babe--” he starts to try and convince you, but you’re so close to cumming now you don’t even care that you were right and his stitches ripped and he’s bleeding out all over your sheets. Gloating can wait until you’re finished.

“Just shut up and fuck me,” you say, gripping his shoulder with your bloody hand, trying to ignore the way you can feel it on your stomach and thigh now too.

He follows your orders, burying his face in the crook of your neck while yours snakes up the back of his to grip the hair at his nape, tugging a bit harshly as you feel the pressure beginning to build between your legs.

The only sounds now are your harsh breaths and the obscene slapping of skin against skin, and before you know it you’re biting down on the side of Clint’s neck with a soft whine, your orgasm spreading waves of tiny tremors through your body. He’s not far behind you, moaning your name as his body convulses and he releases inside you.

Neither of you move for a moment, apart from Clint absently rubbing your back, mumbling soft praises against your neck. He sighs contentedly as you drag your fingers through his hair, pressing gentle little kisses to the side of his face, paying special attention to the particularly nasty bruises.

After a while he pulls back to look at you, a stupid self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. You roll your eyes but can’t help but return the smile despite yourself at how cute he looks. With a put- upon sigh you lightly shove him off of you and back down to the bed, pushing yourself up on shaky arms and legs, a quiet hiss escaping both of you as his cock slides out of you. You groan full-on when you see the way his blood is covering you both. All the way down his left side and spread onto his stomach and legs, your right painted the same way.

You settle yourself next to him, attempting to check out the extent of the damage you two have caused to his wound and start the clean up, when the sound of his soft chuckling draws your eyes up to his face instead. The second your eyes meet he breaks into a full on laugh, the sound filling the room as he throws an arm over his eyes, his other hand gripping your thigh affectionately.

“God, you’re such an idiot,” you scoff, but there’s no fire behind the insult. Your lips quirk up in a warm smile as you watch him laugh, grateful that he’s able to find something to be happy about despite the fact that he must be feeling less than stellar.

Once his laughter dies down he turns his head to look at you, his eyes sparkling in the late afternoon light.

“Go ahead and say it,” he says, the corners of his mouth turning up into an amused smirk.

You snuggle in close to his side, pressing your hand to his cheek and stroking it softly. “You know, I went into this completely prepared to rub it in your face when I was proven right but I don’t even think I need to now. You’re the one who’s gonna have to deal with Cho when she finds out what happened.You still owe me money for the idiot jar though.”

You pat his chest in mock sympathy, smiling when he scoffs and pulls you into him even more, catching your hand in his and holding it close to his heart.

“I love you,” he says, pressing his lips to yours sweetly before pulling away and resting back against the pillows.

“Love you too,” you sit up and grab one of the pillows, whacking him with it lightly. “Now c’mon, we gotta clean this up so we can head to the tower and get you stitched back up.”

“Uh-uh,” Clint replies, closing his eyes and settling in even more, “I don’t wanna leave the house. We can just wrap it up and go tomorrow.”

You want to argue that he’s being stupid again but find that you don’t have the heart for it, not when he’s looking so comfortable and relaxed and glad to be back in his own bed. Plus, it was nice to have him back in your bed.

You take a quick detour into the bathroom to wash the blood off of your skin, shaking your head in an equal amount of annoyance and fondness at the fact that things like this don’t even phase you anymore.

You then make your way to the closet, pulling your shirt and panties back on as you go, and pull out a few towels, tossing them to him. “At least put these down then. We’ll change the sheets later.”

He makes a vague grunt of agreement and you turn toward the bedroom door, intending to go to the kitchen to get him a bottle of water before retrieving the first aid kit.

As soon as you crack it open, you and Clint’s dog Lucky rises from his spot in the hallway (where he had curled up with Clint’s discarded shirt) and greets you, panting and wagging his tail happily at your feet. You give his golden head a few loving pats before making your way into the kitchen, hearing Clint greet the dog enthusiastically behind you.

On your way to the fridge you spot his pants still on the couch where he’d left them when he got home, and you smirk, taking a quick detour. You go through his pockets quickly, looking for one thing in particular, and when you find it you finally head into the kitchen, grabbing a large jar from one of the cupboards and dropping the item inside, leaving the jar out on the counter.

When you finally make it back to the bedroom you find that Lucky has taken your spot in bed, he and Clint cuddling together adorably on the blood stained towels and sheets and snoring peacefully. The sight warms your heart and you find yourself leaning against the doorframe a bit longer to enjoy the view.

He’s an idiot. But he’s _your_ idiot.

\----

Clint wakes up late the next morning, padding groggily around the apartment only to find that you and Lucky had already left on your walk. You may be gone but he can smell the coffee coming from the kitchen and makes that his next mission. He leans against the counter, drinking straight out of the pot and ignoring the fact that his entire body feels like it’s throbbing, when he spots the jar to his right.

He nearly chokes on his next sip, sitting the pot down and shaking his head at the sight of his entire wallet sitting inside the jar with the words _IDIOT JAR_ written on a post-it and stuck to the front.

“You little asshole,” he mutters, chuckling fondly at your antics, he fishes out his wallet, opens it up and digs around inside before he pulls out a couple twenty dollar bills. He tosses them into the jar, grabbing his coffee pot and heading toward the couch, plopping down and settling in to wait for his two favorite people to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, my friends, was my first ever marvel smut. I'll now return to the sin bin to work on my next smutty monstrosity. You can check me out on tumblr [here](https://sithlordslut.tumblr.com)


	2. God Bless America [Steve x Reader](Smut)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Steve’s birthday so you decide to surprise him with something special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> el oh el i don't know what this trash is but I hope y'all enjoy it

You adjust your tits for what feels like the millionth time since stepping into this ridiculous outfit and every second that you’re forced to wait draws you closer and closer to just ripping the damn thing off. 

_ Steve’ll be here any second and, the look on his face… It’ll all be worth it. _

The urge to pace around the apartment is strong but you somehow find it in yourself to resist, deciding instead to go to the full length mirror in your bedroom and take the full body picture Nat and Wanda had requested. 

They hadn’t been with you when you bought the outfit but, after learning what you planned to do with it, they’d both nearly pounced on you, demanding photographic evidence of you in it when the time came to put your plan in action. 

The loud groan that fills the room when you catch sight of yourself is hardly enough to convey how utterly absurd you look. You’re squeezed into a pair of skin tight, metallic spandex shorts and a matching top. The shorts have an American flag pattern, and the top has a large white star right in the center. Overall the effect is…  _ ugh.  _ You are definitely gonna regret this. 

Once the picture is taken you open up the group thread between the three of you, attaching it with the caption:  _ God Bless America. _

Their responses are almost instant.

_ Nat: oh my GOD, Rogers is gonna have a stroke _

Wanda’s only response is a string of crying emoji’s, the sight of which makes you roll your eyes and reply with a middle finger emoji of your own. You can’t help but laugh though, in her defense you  _ do  _ look ridiculous. 

_ Nat: jesus christ your tits look  _ insane _! u sure u dont wanna just come out here and give us  _ all  _ the pleasure of seeing his reaction? _

You smirk at that. The team  _ would  _ have a lot of fun making fun of Steve for whatever embarrassing reaction he was bound to have but then you’d have to deal with the fact that  _ they’d  _ be seeing you in this awful outfit too… 

After barely even a second of contemplation you tap out your response: _LOL yea im gonna have to hard pass on that one. no one will ever see me in this stupid thing except u two and steve. where the hell is he anyway?_ _My boobs may look magnificent but this fucker was NOT made for comfort_

Before you’d gone back to your apartment to change, you’d been out on the lawn of the Avenger’s compound, celebrating Steve’s birthday with the rest of the team. Tony had insisted on going all out this year, and the party had consisted of an all day Fourth of July birthday barbecue and pool party. You’d made your exit after the massive fireworks display (because if Tony was throwing the party it would be nothing if not over-the-top in some fashion, right?), but encouraged him to stay behind and socialize for a bit longer.

_ Wanda: Tony’s  got him caught up in some dumb story. and… yikes sam and bucky are at it again, but he’s distracted. He’s trying to figure out what ur up to _

_ Nat: yeah he does look a little antsy… gimmie a minute, i’ll go see if i can give our friend a hand. _

You attempt to take a deep breath, grateful that Natasha’s willing to step in and help speed things up a little, and you wince when you feel the seams buckle a bit. God only knows how you managed to get yourself in this thing but, the sooner Steve comes in and takes it  _ off,  _ the better. 

It’s another few moments until your phone chimes again, twice this time, and you feel a wide grin spreading across your face before you even open the messages. 

The first is from Natasha, reading:  _ I rescued the birthday boy. he’s on his way to you now. _

You tap out a quick thanks before going to check the other message, this time from Steve.  _ Sorry, sweetheart, I got tied up with the guys. I’m heading back now, ok?  _

Your feel your heart speed up slightly at the thought of him finally seeing you, and the only response you’re able to muster up is a quick  _ can’t wait,  _ accompanied by a winking emoji. 

Right as you’re about to shut off your phone, wanting to be able to enjoy the night's events without any interruptions or distractions, it chimes with two new messages.

_ Wanda: have a good night with the captain _

_ Nat: i want all the details when this is done. and don’t break the old man’s hip. _

You snicker at that, quickly sending a short message in thanks of their well wishes, and shut off your phone, reaching down to pull the tiny shorts out of your ass before moving back to your spot behind the couch. Here, you’ll be the first thing Steve sees when he comes through the door, and you fight the urge to pace around to work off some of the nerves. 

There’s a few moments of silence before you hear him opening the door to your apartment.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he calls, turning to shut the door behind him and setting down a few of his gifts on the side table. “I didn’t mean to take so long but you know Stark can talk for hours and then Sam and Buck started arguing and I--” 

He stops dead once he notices you, his mouth hanging open in shock. 

“Happy birthday!” you say, doing a little twirl so he can take it all in. You face him again just in time to see him swallow thickly, his eyes raking over every inch of you body before.

“It’s, um…” he takes a few slow steps forward, almost as if in a trance. “Jesus, sweetheart, what are you wearing?” 

When he finally reaches you he reaches out to grip your hips firmly, keeping you at arm’s-length while he continues to stare.  

“It’s a ‘Sassy Cap’ costume,” you reply, winding your arms around his neck. “I found it at Party City.” 

“Sassy Cap?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Your lips turn up into a wide smile at the slightly dazed tone of his voice, and the way his blue eyes haven’t left your body since the moment he walked in. 

“Yep. It’s supposed to be a sexy version of your suit.” 

Ridiculous as it is, it’s the truth, and you smirk in satisfaction when Steve’s eyes finally snap up to yours at the admission. You can see it dawn on him, the vague similarities between this shiny spandex monstrosity and his famous red-white-and-blue get-up. 

He cracks into a loud laugh then, his head falling forward to rest on your shoulder as he hugs you close. You start to giggle too, knowing how crazy this whole thing is. When he finally calms down a bit he pulls back to look at you, only to fall apart again. 

“Oh my god, I love you, hun, but this outfit is just--” he breaks off into a full-bodied chuckle when you pop your hip in an over-exaggerated pinup type pose. “God, this is awful.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you say, punching him playfully on the shoulder. “But it’s the thought that counts though, right?” 

He smiles that wide bright smile that has won the hearts of millions across the globe and you wonder for the millionth time how the hell you managed to be the one that caught his attention. 

You don’t have a chance to dwell on that train of thought, though, because he takes a few steps back, putting a hand to his chin and eyeing you thoughtfully. 

“What are ya thinkin’, Cap?” you ask, raising your brow and smiling fondly at him.

“If I was still in show business, we could make a killin’ with you as one of my USO girls.” 

“Really?!” you ask, sputtering out a laugh. That was the absolute last thing you expected to hear from him. 

“Hell yeah!” He says, moving forward again to wrap his arms around your waist. “People would be coming from far and wide to see you prancing around on stage in this thing. We’d be rich.” 

“Hmmm,” you pretend to consider it, screwing up for face in mock contemplation. “I dunno, Cap. I had a more…  _ private _ show in mind.” 

“Oh yeah,” he says, voice lowering at your suggestive tone. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, arching your back into him, pressing your chest firmly against his. Your lips are close enough to his that you can feel every shuddering breath. 

“Christ almighty,” he says, crushing his lips to yours. 

You open your mouth for him when he runs his tongue along the seam of your lips, whimpering softly when he licks into your mouth. He tastes like beer and buttercream frosting and it’s enough to make your head feel light. 

You break apart to breath and Steve leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, hand slipping down from your hips to grab at your ass. 

“You bought this just for me, baby?” His breath fans across your face as he speaks, and you inhale shakily at the feeling of his hands firmly kneading your ass.

“Mmm-hmm,” you nod, gripping the back of his neck with one hand and the other anchoring itself at his shoulder. “For your birthday.” 

He groans lowly at your answer, guiding you back a few steps until you’re pressed against the back of the couch. He leans back to look at you, his eyes dark with lust but also so full of love and adoration it makes your heart flutter. 

“What am I gonna do with you, sweetheart?” he asks, shaking his head in amusement. 

You smile as sweetly as you can, looking up at him with wide, faux-innocent eyes. “Anything you want, Cap. It’s your birthday.” 

He smirks, a devious glint in his eye. “You sure you wanna give me that much power, baby?”

“Completely,” you breathe, stretching up to ghost your lips across his neck, relishing in the way it makes him shiver with desire. 

“Alright then,” he says, gripping the backs of your thighs before easily lifting you off the ground. He moves around the back of the couch before settling you down gently on the cushions, crawling on top after you. “You wanna know what I have in mind?” 

“Uh-huh,” it comes out more like a moan, but steve doesn’t seem to mind leaning down to press a series of steamy kisses to your neck.

Yeah… this is definitely  _ beyond  _ the best reaction you could have hoped for.

“First,” he says, the low tone of his voice shooting straight between your legs. “We’re gonna get you out of these tiny fucking shorts so I can eat that pretty little pussy till you’re screamin’ my name.” 

He punctuates that statement by leaning back so he’s straddling your hips, grabbing at the high waistline of your spandex shorts and tearing them straight down the middle before yanking them away from your body, tossing them over the back of the couch. 

“Then,” he continues, sliding his hands up from your hips to cup your breasts, squeezing them tightly. “You’re gonna get on your knees and suck me off like you’re so good at.” 

Once again, the sound of tearing fabric fills the room when he snakes his hands under where the material stopped just underneath your breasts. The ripped top is thrown over the couch with the rest of the costume. The top had been entirely too tight for a bra, so you’re left there beneath him in nothing but a pair of lacy white panties.  

“And after that,” he leans down so his lips are at your ear, chuckling a bit when your back arcs up off the couch as a result of him stroking lightly at your pussy through your panties, no doubt already feeling the dampness there. “I’m gonna fuck you hard, right on this couch.” 

He nips at your earlobe and grips tightly at your waist when you roll your hips into his. “All that sound good to you, sweetheart?” 

Your face cracks into a wry smile. Even after all the filthy things that have just come out of his mouth he’s still, at his core, the perfect gentleman. “Sounds perfect, Cap. I just want you to have a happy birthday, whatever you want.” 

“Jesus Christ, baby,” he says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips, “how’d I get so lucky to find a gal like you, huh?” 

You don’t have an answer for him, and frankly find yourself a little flustered at the compliment and the way his eyes softened so much when he said it, so you just bite your lip instead. Your breath catches in your throat when he starts to press a slow path of open-mouthed kisses down your chest and to your stomach, hesitating a bit when he reaches your hips. He lingers there for a moment, taking a deep breath and stroking you through your panties. 

“You’re so wet already, baby,” he murmurs against your stomach, maneuvering you both so that you have one leg draped over his shoulder and the other with your foot resting firmly on the floor, settling himself in between.

“Steve,” you breathe, partly in warning and partly in encouragement, cupping one hand against the back of his neck and clutching at the back of his shirt with the other. 

“You know,” he says, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tearing them from your body in one fluid motion. “I bet you taste better than that fancy birthday cake Stark bought.” 

Before you can even respond he licks a stripe up to your clit, causing you to gasp out in pleasure. You feel the groan that rumbles through him and shiver, flexing the leg thrown over his shoulder in an attempt to bring him closer. 

He’s happy to indulge you, his tongue snaking out again to trace lazy little circles around your clit. He hooks one arm around your hips to keep you steady, chuckling when you buck into his face after a particularly firm stroke. 

Before long he’s pressing one finger into you and pumping in and out slowly, and when it curls against your g-spot it’s enough to make you see stars. You can feel your orgasm building quickly in your stomach, and you thread your hands through Steve’s hair to hold him in place. 

A choked gasp escapes you when he adds a second finger, your toes curling at the sensation of him scissoring them inside you, stretching you wider. 

“Steve,” you moan, you hear him groan when your fingers tighten in his hair, nails scratching deliciously against his scalp. “I-- shit-- I’m gonna--” 

“You gonna cum, baby?” he asks, looking up from between your legs. His pupils are so dilated his eyes look black, the thin ring of sky-blue barely visible anymore. His lips and chin are covered in your juices, and the sight is almost enough to send you over the edge right then and there. “Let go, sweetheart. Cum for me.” 

With that, he dives back between your legs, lips attaching themselves to your clit and sucking hard, shattering you in the process. 

Your whole body trembles in the most delicious way, little waves of pure pleasure pulsing through you. You feel hot and cold all at once and through it all you can feel Steve staring at you, murmuring little praises as he strokes you through your first climax of the night.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he coos, reaching the arm he had locked around your hips up to thread his fingers through yours.   

When you finally come down, you look up to find Steve is still looking at you find yourself feeling a bit shy despite how many times you’ve been in this situation together. 

“How you feelin’, baby?” he asks, lifting the two fingers he’d had inside you up to his mouth and licking them clean. “You ready for more?” 

“Hell yeah,” you say, sitting up and pulling him in for a kiss, goosebumps breaking out over your skin at the taste of yourself on his tongue. 

You break away, pushing him back against the couch, moving to situate yourself on the floor between his knees. For a moment you’re dumbfounded, sitting there staring at his clothed erection and remembering that, in his shock and haste to get you out of your costume, he hadn’t bothered to get undressed. You quickly remedy that, peeling every scrap of clothing off his body in record time, licking your lips hungrily when you finally get him out of his boxers and take in the sight of his erection. You look up into his eyes as you close your hand around him and stroke his dick lightly, sighing when he runs his hands through your hair. 

You hear him suck in a harsh breath when you duck your head and press a soft kiss to his tip, lingering there a moment before opening your mouth and taking him in. A sensuous moan flows past your lips at the first taste of precum on your tongue. You start off slow, working him with your hand while simultaneously swirling your tongue around his cock. He tugs at your hair affectionately, groaning in pleasure when you finally take him all the way into your mouth, feeling the tip hit the back of your throat. 

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart, you're always such a good girl for me aren't you? T--” he’s cut off but the loud moan that rips it’s way from his throat, his thighs tensing underneath your hands. “Takin my dick like a goddamn pro... that's it... take it all the way back. Christ, baby doll, you're too good to me…”

You whine softly around him at the praise, still astounded at the mouth Steve Rogers has on him when you get him behind closed doors.

You hollow your cheeks, sucking hard and swirling your tongue around his tip, and that’s enough to nearly break him. His hand fists in your hair, pulling you off his dick with a lewd slurp. His chest is heaving, and he has a wild look in his eyes that has you tingling in all the right places. 

“That’s enough, sweetheart,” he says, pulling you up and into his lap and kissing your firmly. It’s a searing kiss, all lips and tongue and by time you break apart your head is spinning, chest rising and falling rapidly as you try to catch your breath. “You know what happens next, right?” 

You nod eagerly in response, and he wastes no time in positioning you back against the couch, pulling your legs up to wrap around his waist. He braces himself with one hand gripping the armrest behind your head, the other holding tight to your hip. 

You gasp and your insides clench when you feel his head pressing up against your entrance, your fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

“You ready, baby?” he asks, smirking down at you devilishly. He was so handsome right then it was enough to take your breath away.

You tighten your legs around his waist, urging him closer. “Fuck me hard, Steve. Right on his couch.” 

His smile widens when as he realizes that you’ve just repeated his previous words back to him, and he thrusts right into you without another second's hesitation, burying himself to the hilt. You arch into him, your skin tingling at the sensation of being filled. He’s so big you can feel every ridge of him inside you, brushing against all the right spots. 

He gives you both a moment to adjust, and you hear him suck in a hissing breath when you clamp down around him. He takes the hint and starts to slowly thrust in and out of you, the delicious friction lighting your nerves on fire with each stroke.  

After one particularly hard thrust leaves you screaming, Steve decides to increase the pace, slamming his hips into yours with such a force that you’re already starting to feel sore.

“You’re so good to me, baby, you know that?” he asks, continuing at a bruising speed. “There’s-- shit-- there’s no one else in the world who could get me off like this, sweetheart.”

When the hand on your hip slips down between your legs you know you’re done for, your insides fluttering as Steve starts to stroke your clit firmly with his thumb. You moan his name, your own hands moving up to massage your breasts, rolling your nipples firmly between your fingers. 

It’s not long before you can feel yourself on the edge again. 

“You’re close aren’t you, baby?” he asks, grunting when you clench involuntarily around him, “I can feel it.”  

He shifts so that one of your legs is pressed tight against your chest, and the new angle allows him to get even deeper and hit that spot that has your vision fraying at the edges. 

“Ah shit, sweetheart,” he groans when your whole body goes rigid, that final stroke combined with the pressure on your clit pulling you over with a breathless cry. 

Steve doesn’t stop thrusting, his hips moving erratically as he chases his own orgasm. " _ Fuck _ , that's it, sweetheart. Ju-- shit-- just like that. Cum all over my cock."  

After a few more sloppy thrusts he finishes with your name on his lips, finally releasing his death grip on your the arm of the couch, and pulls out of you. Steve sits back heavily on the couch, lifting your legs into his lap and stroking over them lightly, trying to regulate his breathing. 

“Well,” you say with a breathless chuckle, “there goes my future as a USO girl.”

You reach over the back of the couch and grab a scrap of torn red-white-and-blue spandex, tossing it playfully at him.

“Eh, well,” he shrugs, giving your calf an affectionate squeeze. “I don’t know if I really want anyone else to see your ass in those shorts anyway.” 

“That’s fine by me,” you move to snuggle in close to him, tucking yourself against his chest and under his arm. “Happy birthday, Cap.” 

“Best one I’ve ever had, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of your head, resting his cheek against your hair. 

The silence stretches comfortably between you, only the sound of your breathing filling the room until Steve decides to break it, turning to you with one of his trademark shit-eating grins.  

“ _ I  _ wouldn’t mind seeing you in that outfit again though.” 

You scoff, shoving him lightly and shaking your head. “Maybe next year. But  _ only  _ if you dig up that old suit you used to wear in the movies. Be my Star Spangled Man With A Plan.” 

You both collapse into each other in a fit of laughter when he starts to hum the tune, and you can’t help the feeling of warmth that spreads over you at the thought of spending another wonderful birthday with this goof. 

There’s still a lilt of laughter in your voice when you look up at him and say, “God Bless America.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so embarrassed that this exists


End file.
